


Yet Another Christmas Invasion

by RedLeaderfic



Category: Doctor Who (2005), World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Crossover, Gen, Gen Work, Kayfabe Compliant, Robots, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/pseuds/RedLeaderfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean learns why the London locals don't go sight seeing on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yet Another Christmas Invasion

**Author's Note:**

> Let's all pretend the European tour was over Christmas, shall we? For Doctor Who, set ~some Christmas~ after the End of Time.

Dean rolled some of the stiffness out of his shoulder; Wyatt could hit like a moose when he put his mind to it and Dean had sailed out of the ring just the right way to nail the barricade hard enough to numb his entire arm for a few seconds. Not the biggest deal, the trainers hadn't done much more than tape it up and send him on his way, but Dean knew from experience the whole thing would lock up if he slept on it wrong. Just not going to sleep seemed the logical answer.

And really, if he had to get banged up this wasn't the worst time for it – the next day was a rare day off on the long tour and even though there'd been some bitching about being overseas for Christmas it wasn't like Dean had other plans. The last time he'd been in London it had rained the entire time and the itinerary had made it so the only sightseeing he'd been able to do was from the back of the tour bus as everyone got shuttled around. This time he had almost twenty-four hours where he didn't have to be accounted for and the weather wasn't even that horrible. Dean intended to make the most of it.

He wasn't the only straggler still in the arena; Paige broke into his thoughts by letting her rollerbag crash to the floor as she zipped up her coat. “You still here?” she said, noticing him as she bent down to pick up her stuff. “You're gonna miss the shuttle back to the hotel, come on.”

“Nah, I'll find my own way back. Wanna walk around a little bit, we got the whole day off tomorrow.”

Paige blinked at him like he'd lapsed into Martian. “ _Tonight,_ you mean? It's Christmas Eve. It's practically Christmas day already.”

“Yeah. So?”

“You plan to be out on the street on Christmas? In _London_?”

“What? Is Santa not gonna deliver me any presents if I'm not in bed? 'Cause if he's real he owes me one hell of a backlog....”

Paige spotted Barrett coming out of the adjacent trainer's room and waved him over. “He's going out tonight,” she said, pointing at Dean. “Just going to take a stroll around the city.”

Barrett broke into a grin as he looked Dean up and down, then let out a big, bellowing laugh. He turned around for the exit without saying so much as a word to Dean and Paige hurried to follow him, laughing at Dean herself now. “You have fun!” she said, barely able to get the words out. “I'll tell the agents not to wait up!”

The door to the outside tunnel slammed shut, leaving Dean alone in the empty room to wonder out what in the hell _that_ had been about. Finally he just shrugged, wincing a little at the ache in his shoulder. “Weirdos.” He found a PA to haul his gear back to the hotel and went out a side door, pulling his coat closed against the sudden rush of cold air.

Dean had spent more than half his life wandering strange cities after shows let out but he couldn't remember ever seeing one this _empty_. He didn't know if his footsteps were actually echoing like he was in an old noir movie or if it was just his imagination; the streets that had been clogged with cabs and those weird little British cars were empty now, only the occasional bus drifting by to break up the quiet. And even the buses were off-duty, not slowing down when Dean happened to be at a stop. The few people he saw seemed to be in a hell of a hurry, not making eye contact and arms loaded up as they all rushed indoors. The stores were all closed and shuttered, not _that_ unusual this time of night, but the restaurants were all dark too, even the bars. Getting his shoulder taken care of had kept Dean from eating anything from the catering spread at the arena and he'd been counting grabbing something while he was out. 

Dean hadn't realized they took Christmas so _seriously_ in England. Maybe he should have just gone back to the hotel after all.

After another twenty minutes or so of aimless wandering Dean spotted a rundown, tavern looking place that still had its lights on. He headed straight for it, jaywalking through the deserted streets; through the window he could see a bartender wiping down glasses with a couple other people milling around, the usual sadsack types he would expect to see hanging out in a bar past midnight on Christmas Eve. “Thank fucking God,” he said to himself, circling around the corner to find the front door. He was long past choosing a place based on atmosphere and anyway, he was probably destined to be one of those sad sacks in another ten years or so.

No one looked over as he pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The interior was cooler than he'd expected it to be, almost like the boiler was off; he shoved his hands in his pockets to try to warm them up as he flagged down the bartender. “Hey. Hey, get me a beer, would ya? Any kind you got, I don't care.” The bartender didn't even turn his head. “Hey. You hear me?”

Still no response. Dean slid off the bar stool and strode over to him, standing less than a foot away. “You selling anything tonight?” The bartender didn't look at him; Dean noticed the guy was still washing the exact same glass, wiping it clean, putting it down and then picking it right back up again. He backed away and sat an the farthest barstool he could, watching the bartender wash that same glass over and over.

If he'd told anyone where he was going he would have assumed it was a prank. Roadtrips got boring once the novelty wore off and the prank wars had gotten pretty intense over the past few days. Dean looked outside the window into the empty London streets. He would have seen if someone had followed him, there were no cars on the road and the streets were deserted. He looked past the bartender and noticed that the man and woman down at the other end of the bar weren't actually talking to each other. They were _gesturing_ like they were talking, but their lips didn't move and after a few minutes the gestures started to repeat, just like the bartender with his glass. “You got a customer over here,” he said, fingers drumming against the bar as he tried to quiet the uneasy pit growing in his stomach.

It _could_ be an elaborate prank. He and Roman and Seth had played some doozies on each other when they all still rode together, this wasn't so far off from some of the more creative things they'd pulled. Or maybe the locals had just decided to have some fun with the tourist. That happened a lot on the road, although usually in towns a lot smaller in London. 

_Okay, then. Let's test that._ Dean boosted himself over the bar, careful not to put too much weight on his bum shoulder; he landed right behind the serving well, grabbed a pitcher from the rack and filled it up from the first tap he found. He grabbed a heavy glass mug as he set the pitcher on the bar and climbed over again, settling himself back on the stool. “Thanks!” he called out the the still glass-wiping bartender as he poured himself a beer.

“Young man! Back here!” Dean wasn't sure where the voice had come from; he leaned both elbows against the bar and scanned the room, finally spotting an old timer frantically waving at him from one of the back tables. “Come have a seat.” 

It wasn't like he was getting any other offers. Dean picked up the pilfered glass and beer pitcher and walked over, scanning the bar before he sat down to make sure that, yes, everyone was still acting just as weird and that nope, no one seemed to be noticing him at all. At least his new friend seemed happy to see him. “I wouldn't have called you over but it didn't seem like you were planning on leaving.”

“Yeah, well. Can't beat the prices, I guess.” The old man was easily upwards of eighty, bundled up in a winter jacket and a knit cap decorated with a pin that looked vaguely military to Dean but that he didn't recognize. “Hell of a place you've got there.”

“They can't see you, you know,” the man said, catching Dean looking around again. “You're not from here. That's why they haven't noticed you.”

“What? Why? Is it an American thing? They don't serve Americans here?”

“Not won't see. Can't. I've noticed it a few times before this, there was a man from India who tried to come in yesterday, and two Irish ladies the day before that. It's something about being from England specifically.” Dean kept trying to convince himself this was a very elaborate prank but something in the man's tone made him shift in his seat, something tired and angry and not at all amused. “The name is Wilfred Mott, by the way. You can call me Wilf if you like.”

That at least made Dean crack a smile. “That's gotta be the most English name I've ever heard in my life.”

“And what's wrong with that?” Wilfred countered, puffing up with mock offense. “It's a very solid name.”

“Never said it wasn't. I'm Dean, since we're doing this.”

Wilfred nodded. “I've seen you before, you know. On the telly.”

“Oh yeah? You a fan?”

“My granddaughter's new husband is, they were over for a visit and he put you all on. Got her into it a bit too I thought, she was shouting at the telly more than he was.”

“Oh yeah? Who do they like?”

Wilfred's brow furrowed. “I'm not sure on names. The one with the jaw and the muscles,” he said, miming it well enough that Dean instantly knew _Cena_ , “and that one Donna especially liked shouting at, the one with the hair.” This time he waved his hand by the side of his head. _Gotta be Seth_ , Dean thought, rolling his eyes. “Said he was perfectly horrid.”

“Yeah, well, she's not wrong there.”

“You're a scrapper, though, I noticed that. Always did prefer the those myself.” Wilf's expression turned serious again as he glanced across the bar. “I didn't want to get anyone else involved but there's more of them here than I expected. I could use a scrapper tonight.”

Dean leaned across the table, instinct telling him that maybe he should be keeping his voice low. “Look old man, if this is a prank it is a _hell_ of prank, tell Roman or whoever they really got me good....”

“It's not. I can promise you that.”

“Then tell me what's up.”

Wilf gave him a nervous look.” I don't think you'd believe me.”

“Try it.”

Wilf glanced over Dean's shoulder at the bar, fingers quick drumming on the table as he seemed to have some trouble making up his mind, then he also leaned forward. “They're robots,” he said, his voice the same low, conspiratorial tone as Dean's now. “The whole lot of them. I saw their ship land a week ago and they've been slowly replacing people since. I don't know what happened to any of them.”

 _Oh, please be a prank._ “Robots.”

“Knew you wouldn't believe me. Just a crazy old man talking nonsense now.”

“I didn't say that.” Had been thinking it a little bit, sure, but when he looked back at the bartender still cleaning that one glass he couldn't stop from thinking _well, maybe_. “Why didn't they replace you?”

“Been coming here the longest. It started with the young people, the young girl who brought the drinks, the boy who wiped down the tables, then went from there.” Wilf's expression darkened into a scowl. “My friend Thomas built this place after the War. Loved it more than he loved his wife, to tell the truth. It's my favorite pub and I won't have some alien robots taking it over.”

In his life, with his job, Dean had easily met thousands of people, people trying to sell him something, scam him out of money, you name it. His business was home to some of the most accomplished bullshit artists the world had ever known - maybe he had misjudged Seth Rollins big but that screw-up aside Dean considered himself a pretty good judge of when he was being lied to. Maybe Wilfred Mott was a crazy old man, but as far as Dean could tell he'd believed every crazy word he'd just said. “Why're you so sure something's happening tonight?”

Wilf shrugged. “They stopped bringing things in and out last night. And it's Christmas. These things always seem to happen on Christmas.”

Dean sagged back in his chair. “ _That's_ why those two acted so weird when I said I was going out tonight.”

“That's a bad trick. If they're from here they should have warned you.”

It was Dean's turn to shrug. “Not like we're friends. And I probably wouldn't have believed them if they did anyway.”

“Does that mean you do believe me, then?”

Dean stared hard at the robotic bartender. “Yeah. Maybe I do. Hell, they keep calling me crazy, might as well live up to it, right?”

Wilf gave him a sturdy pat on the shoulder, suddenly all excitement. “Good! Good, here's what we'll do. There's a switch on the back of their necks, I noticed it the day before. We've got to switch it off, but they're stronger than they look so it won't be easy.”

“At least they won't see me coming.”

“Until you touch them. They'll know you're there then, you were lucky not to do that before.”

Dean chewed his lip for a second, trying to figure out a strategy. “You think there's just the three?”

“There might be more. There's staff unaccounted for, some patrons gone missing. I didn't expect there to be the three, just the bartender was here last night.”

“How the hell were you planning to do this by yourself?”

Wilf pulled out a small, cylindrical metal rod about the size of a TV remote. “I was hoping to use this.”

“What is that?”

“I don't...know, exactly,” Wilf said, the words coming out in a nervous rush. “An old friend left it under the tree, one I hadn't expected to hear from again. I didn't see him do it but I know it had to be him. He had something himself that looked a little like this but I can't figure out how to turn this on and I didn't have time to play with it.”

“Good start.” Wilf gave the backtalk a disapproving look but didn't have an answer for it. “How do we know these things aren't everywhere?”

“We don't. We don't,” Wilf said, sounding a little lost and _enraged_ at the same time. “But we know these ones are here. _These_ ones can do something about, here, tonight.” He stared Dean right in the eyes. “I have a daughter, a granddaughter in this city. Do you have something to fight for?”

Dean swallowed hard. “Got a brother.”

Wilf nodded. “Good. Keep that in mind, that it's not just us at stake.” He let out a long breath. “I've had so much practice at those big speeches the past few years.”

“Yeah, it shows.” Dean frowned; he'd have to jump the bar again to get to the bartender and that would put him in reach of the other two. Taking them out first would be the smarter play. “I'm gonna ambush those two while I still have surprise. Maybe get lucky and take them both out.”

“I'll---”

“You'll sit right there and watch, you are like eighty freaking years old. Figure out how your magic wand or whatever that thing is works, then maybe think about backing me up.” Dean stood up before he could lose any nerve, almost knocking the chair backwards. 

“You take some care.”

“Yeah, that's my always motto,” Dean muttered to himself as he crept along the wall towards the male robot of the couple, glass still in hand. He really hoped it was a robot. He was going to catch so much shit from the road agents if this wasn't a robot and he wound up arrested.

Wilf grabbed his wrist. “I mean, take care, they can get into your head. Before Thomas disappeared he said he saw his grandson who died in Iraq, telling him horrible things. They make you see what you're afraid of.”

Dean grinned at that. “Okay, then. Let's see what they come up with. Sounds fun.” He shook Wilf off and went back to sneaking up on the robot, the one disguised as a middle-aged white schlub in a shabby sweater talking to someone way out of his league. Neither robot reacted to Dean even when he was inches away; Wilf had said there was a switch on the back of their neck but even right up there Dean couldn't see one. Finally Dean just shrugged, took a deep breath and smashed the heavy mug as hard as he could into the back of the robot's neck. 

_That_ got their attention. Sparks flew out of the thing's ears, hot enough that Dean flinched back; it turned on him and Dean saw he'd hit it hard enough to knock its head off center, circuits visible under its now drooping lower lip. _Shit. Shit, this is really happening._ The robot pulled its fist back and Dean pushed the shock away; he spent a lot of time with people trying to punch him and was able to duck faster than the robot expected, throwing it just off balance enough for Dean it kick its legs out from under it. Now Dean could make out the switch, still just barely visible at the thing's collar, and he dove down to flip it before the robot could get back up.

 _Good. One down._

Something heavy cracked against his back, forcing him down to the dirty floor. _Chair. Ow._ No matter how many times he'd been hit with chairs it never managed to hurt any less. He rolled out of the way of the next blow out of pure instinct and squeezed under the bar's overhang to try to get his bearings back. _Guess they see me now._

But not all that well. The female robot lurched around the front of the bar looking for him but didn't seem to think of bending down to check to floor. If he had to fight robots, at least he'd lucked out and gotten stupid robots. 

Dean slid himself away from her very, very slowly, ducking under a table when she turned her back. He spotted Wilf standing at his table and caught his eye, motioning _I'm okay_ before the old man could get any dumb ideas.

“Dean, Dean, Dean.” Dean felt cold sweat break out over his arms. He looked up and saw Seth Rollins staring down at him, that son of a _bitch_ , that stupid smirk plastered all over his face. “Hiding under a bar table on Christmas Eve.” Seth crouched down so they were eye level. “This bring back any childhood memories, Dean? Little you sitting down there, Mom getting herself nice and pickled up above you, going home to no presents and no tree?” Dean balled his hands into fists but kept himself under control. He moved, the robots saw him. Seth wasn't worth it. “You should probably just let the tin cans get you, you know it's all downhill from here for you. I mean, this time last year you had two brothers, now it's just the one, right? Ya know next year's gonna keep that ball rolling.”

“Shut up.”

“So how long do you think it'll be before Reigns figures out you're dead weight the way I did? We both know he only sticks with you because he feels bad for you anyway. Eventually that just gets so _old_ , you know? Pretty soon he'll wise up and kick you to the curb just like me.”

“You know, making yourself look like Rollins doesn't make me want to punch you in the face any less.” Dean got his feet back under him and launched himself at robot Seth – or what he _thought_ was a robot Seth because Dean realized too late there was nothing but empty air. He didn't have time to brace before he crashed into the bar, jamming his bad shoulder so hard his entire arm went numb. He pushed himself to his feet, too dazed to remember that was a bad idea; Dean leaned against the bar and brought up his good fist to try to ward off the attack he knew had to be coming. 

“Behind you!”

Dean grabbed that now very clean glass from the bartender's hands and swung blind, catching the female robot on the side of the head. It staggered back and Dean dropped the glass, lunging forward to hit that hidden switch. When it dropped so did he, collapsing back to the floor to catch his breath. 

Wilf was talking to someone. Someone definitely not him.

Dean pulled himself to his feet and saw that Wilf had been right about there being more than three. Another female robot was creeping up on the old man, probably the one that got the server girl Wilf had mentioned earlier; it hadn't seen Dean yet and he picked the beer mug back up, glad the Brits made those things sturdy. He got within reach and tapped the robot on the shoulder, grinning when that made it turn around just like it was people. “Hey there!” Dean said, a big smile on his face as smashed the robot right in the face. It went down like the other two and Dean dropped to his knees to hit the switch before it could make him pay for that.

Wilf was still talking to the air, gesturing at someone only he could see. “But sweetheart, you...you have to understand, we had no choice. It was that or your life, we had to...oh, don't say that, please don't....”

Dean rushed forward and clapped one hand over Wilf's eyes, feeling him startle as that broke through. “Shhh,” Dean said. “They got you. There's nothing there.” He backed away to let Wilf get back some composure. “Don't feel bad, they got me too.”

“Oh. Oh, that is a relief,” he said, still visibly emotional.

“What was that about?”

Wilf shook his head. “A terrible secret. The most terrible secret I can imagine.” He nodded to Dean. “Are you all right?”

“Shoulder's totally shot,” Dean said, leaning against the table and cradling his arm against his side. “There's another week and a half to this tour, I'm gonna be in so much trouble when I get back.”

“We could still die here.”

“That's actually comforting right now, not gonna lie.” He looked over to the bartender, who didn't seem to have taken notice of any of this. “One left. I hope.” He glanced back at Wilf. “Double team?”

“That sounds like the right plan to me.”

“Maybe he's the boss. That would be great, right?” He noticed Wilf had his strange device out. “You get that doohickey to work?”

“Well. It lights up now?”

Dean shrugged, a decision he immediately regretted when pain shot down his arm. “It's progress, at least.” He circled around the table toward the open end of the bar. “If you're gonna do something, now's the time.”

He crept along the interior of the bar as Wilf pointed the device at the bartender; the tip glowed green but as far as Dean could tell nothing else happen. “Oh, _do_ something, will you?” Wilf snapped at it, shaking it before pointing it again. 

_Time for Plan B._ Right until he was on top of it Dean had the hope he could just sneak up on it and that would be the end of things, but maybe he'd been right this was the boss; when he was just within reach the robot spun on him, turning at the waist like a cheap action figure. It grabbed him by the throat before Dean could react, slamming him down in a chokeslam that would have made Kane green with envy. Dean's vision whited out, clearing up just in time to see the robot looming over him, eyes glowing red like it was a Terminator. 

Dean heard a _crack_ and the robot stumbled forward, revealing Wilf standing behind it clutching a now-broken pool cue. Dean knew he wasn't going to get a second chance; he sat up and grabbed the doubled-over robot under its arms, slamming its head into the concrete floor like it was about to win him a world title. He stayed sprawled out on the floor as Wilf reached down and turned the robot off. The floor felt good. Way, way better than standing up would feel. He let out a shaky, relieved laugh. “You okay over there?”

“Now, yes.”

After a little bit Dean managed to push the robot off him and sit up, dragging himself over to where Wilf was also sitting against the bar. “That was _fun_.”

Wilf just gave him a _look_. “You are a _strange_ one.”

“Yeah, everyone says that. Seriously though, I've had plenty of Christmases that went way worse than this did.” Dean winced as tried to roll his shoulder. “Reporting in tomorrow's not gonna be fun, but this still was.”

Wilf shook his glowy little device. “I still wish I knew what this did.” 

As he kept playing with it Dean noticed the glowing end change from green to red. Before he could tell Wilf not to point that thing at him heat rushed through his shoulder, like a trainer's heat pack but better. “Oh. Hey. It's doing something.” Wilf realized where he was pointing and tried to turn it off, but Dean held it steady. “Leave it. Whatever it's doing, it's working.” After a few minutes the light blinked off and Dean tested his shoulder, _thrilled_ to find it completely pain free. “Oh man, thank your friend for me, he just saved me from a hell of a chewing out at work.”

“He is a doctor of sorts,” Wilf said, looking both pleased and a little teary. “Maybe be it's supposed to be for my arthritis. That has been very bad lately.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas, old man.”

“Happy Christmas to you, too.” Wilf leaned his head back against the bar. “Why don't you come round with me and meet the family? My granddaughter and grandson-in-law are in for the holiday, it would give them such a thrill.”

“I don't know if bringing home weirdos you met in bars in the middle of the night is gonna go over so well.”

“Oh, my daughter will be _furious_ , but she's already cross about me spending so much time at the pub this week, at least this will bring everyone else on my side.”

Dean slid his miraculously undamaged phone out of his pocket, finding a long string of increasingly anxious texts from Roman. “My brother's looking for me,” he said. “Guess someone hinted to him being out tonight's not the best idea I ever had.”

“He's the one with the tattoos down his arm? Bring him too.” He leaned over, talking in a stage whisper. “I caught my daughter sneaking glances at the telly when he was on.”

“Okay, fine, fine. You're on. He's been cranky away from his kid anyway, this'll be good for him. We eat a lot, though. I could eat this bar right now.”

“Then there won't be any cause to complain about leftovers.”

After a few back and forth texts Dean put his phone away. “Cool. Roman's gonna pick us up, barring anything else weird happening tonight.” He laced his fingers being his head as he stretched out. “So tell me about this friend of yours who made you a magic healing wand.”

“It's a long story,” Wilf said, unmistakable fondness in his voice. 

“We got a wait. And a lot of booze.”

“You have to promise to believe me, no matter how mad it sounds. And believe me, it _will_ sound that way.” 

“We just had a bar fight with alien robots. Trust me, I'm game.”

“All right, then. It started with the Titanic....”

End


End file.
